


A Marriage of Inconvenience

by mariposaroja



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humour, Light Angst, Prince Gendry, Princess Arya Stark, arya stark did not sign up for this, loosely based on The Swan Princess, mutual hatred, this is not Gendrya's idea of fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariposaroja/pseuds/mariposaroja
Summary: For many years now, Westeros has been divided into two kingdoms: that of King Ned Stark in the North and King Robert in the South. The union that was supposed to happen between the two with the marriage of Robert and Lyanna never came to be, but all is not yet lost.It's custom for betrothed couples to spend the summers together when they are young, so as to prepare them for their future together as husband and wife. A way of easing them into it, so to speak.Of course that was never going to be the case with Princess Arya Stark, always the exception to the rule.





	A Marriage of Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

> I have been sitting on this for a while now and wanted to post it all as one chapter but it was going to get ridiculously long so I though I would post in installments. And the fact that we are being so well fed lately hasn't helped at all ;)

 

As the daughter of King Eddard Stark, if the youngest, Princess Arya had always been raised with a keen sense of duty. Though she would never be Queen, she had always been taught what her blood meant, how her people would look to her, to all of them, for strength in times of hardship. And Starks had been well known for providing just that, ever since Westeros had been split into two kingdoms, with the Starks ruling the North from Winterfell and the Baratheons the South from Kings Landing.

While King Ned, as he was affectionately known, was father to no less than 6 children, King Robert Baratheon had but one son and heir, Prince Gendry, from a wife and Queen he never loved. When Cersei Lannister had died of the pox when her son was but a babe, it was expected that King Robert would soon take another wife. After all, the rule of thumb was an heir and a spare…

He never did, preferring instead to seek comfort in a multitude of women instead of being tied to the one. His people, however, so often preferred to view King Robert in a different light. They told tales and sang songs of the handsome prince who had his beloved taken from him and never really recovered from it, taking a wife only out of necessity to produce an heir. That beloved was Princess Lyanna Stark, sister of King Edward, who had been promised to the Baratheon prince since birth but died before their union could ever become a reality.

Robert, however, remained firm in his belief that the Starks and the Baratheons should be joined and it had been agreed long ago that, if the Gods were good, their children would one day realise that goal.

Long before the King in the South had ceased mourning Lyanna long enough to take a Queen, Catelyn Tully had blessed Ned with a son, Robb. A good, strong boy that was to be his heir. And then another son, Jon. And then a daughter, Sansa, who was a lady from the moment she could talk. A year and a half after Sansa’s birth, Robert and Cersei welcomed Gendry, who was as true a Baratheon as Orys himself. Not wanting to be outdone, as he would always jest, Ned and Catelyn responded in kind and their youngest daughter, Arya, was born a little over a year later. After adding another two additions in the form of Bran and Rickon, the Stark family was complete.

So unusually large was the family for a Royal household that King Ned was bestowed with the rather funny but wholly unwelcome title of the “North’s best lover”.

From Gendry’s birth, it was presumed that he would wed Sansa when they were both of a proper age, and no doubt it would have been a smart match.  The situation, however, became complicated when young Sansa took a shine, and vice versa, to Crown Prince Willas Tyrell of the Kingdom of Highgarden, a close neighbour of Westeros. Highgarden was as much a fairy tale kingdom as one could imagine, and the terms presented by Queen Mother Olenna, on behalf of her son King Mace, were so handsome that Ned could not and ought not refuse. The Reach was abound with every type of crop and vine known to man and more, and it was well known that the North- especially the more remote parts- suffered greatly during the hard winter.

Though it was a good arrangement for all involved and led to much celebration amongst the people, there was still the matter of the alliance with the Baratheons. Ned knew well to approach the matter with care, as there was no corner of Westeros remote enough to hide from the wrath of King Robert. As it transpired, however, he needn’t have worried. The King in the South appeared not to care which daughter of his was given as long as she was a Stark and Prince Gendry could get a Baratheon heir on her.

And so the matter was settled. Arya Stark, Princess of Winterfell, was to marry the Crown Prince of the South on the occasion of her 16th nameday.

 

Arya wasn’t yet old enough to remember the first year that Lady Talisa came all the way from Volantis to stay with them for a few moons before returning home again. So young was she, in fact, that she had just accepted the beautiful young girl’s presence without question. She did not know how it long it had been before she found out, or rather decided to pay attention to the fact that Lady was to, one day, become Robb’s wife and the Queen in the North.

It was a notion that perplexed Arya, especially as to the two, along with everyone else for that matter, seemed to be aware that they were to be husband and wife one day. To her, they just seemed like normal children. Just like her. She remembered once broaching the matter with her Septa.

“Why does Lady Talisa come to visit every year?” she had asked, though she already knew the answer.

Septa Mordane’s eyebrows raised. “For your brother, of course.”

“Yes, but _why_?”

The old woman had merely smiled and urged her back to her knitting, which Arya absolutely hated. Even more than people avoiding her questions. How was she to learn these things if she were never told? Though she did as she was told, scowling as the clicking of the needles filled the otherwise quiet room once again, Arya longed to be outside in the courtyard, learning how to fight with a sword like her brothers. That seemed like much more fun, as well as being of more use, than _knitting_.

 

When she was six, Jon disappeared one day. Without saying goodbye.

“But where has he _gone_?” she implored of Sansa, having been brushed aside by a number of others previously.

“Arya,” her sister sighed and rolled her eyes. Sansa was often cross with her, though she didn’t entirely understand why. “Jon is gone to Dragonstone to stay with the Targaryens. I envy him.”

“The _Targaryens?_ But why would he be going there?”

Once again, Sansa tutted as if she were simple. “To spend time with Princess Daenerys, of course. They said that she has _dragons_. Imagine! Willas has dogs, though I would wager they are different to the ones here,” she said as if the two were comparable, “I wish it would just hurry up.”

“Is Jon going to stay with Dan- Den- with _her_ like Talisa stays with us here? Are they to be married?”

Sansa stopped her embroidery, which in itself was a feat, and observed her little sister with curiosity. A soft chuckle escaped her, though not unkind. “Yes, they are.”

“Will _you_ leave?”

“Yes, next year. I am already counting the days. All the way to the Reach! I can hardly remember the last time I was there, but from the few memories that I do have it is extraordinarily beautiful-“

It was at that point that Arya stopped listening entirely, having been told something that she didn’t want to hear. She and Sansa had never gotten along all that well but since Jon had gone to Dragonstone, pickings were slim. Soon there would be no one left at all. Except maybe Rickon, and he was still far too young to be any fun at all. “What about me? Will I have to go away too?”

“Eventually,” the copper-haired girl shrugged, “but don’t worry, it will be here before you know it.”

That didn’t reassure her in the slightest.

 

Arya Stark was not impressed.

She’d been lured into a false sense of security, as her ninth nameday had come and gone and still there was no talk of her… _bethroded_. Even the world alone sent a shiver through her, and with good reason, too. A panic had engulfed her one day, when she had been informed that she would be going on a trip. But relief soon flooded her hen Arya realised that she would be accompanying her father, that they would be going to visit King Robert in the South. The idea of the journey very quickly grew on her, as above all it enabled her to spend time with King Ned, who was so often kept occupied with his duties at Winterfell. Ruling sounded exhausting.

The Kings Road was seemingly unending but, without any of her siblings or her mother to bother her, Arya found that she quite enjoyed it, especially since she was allowed to ride on her favourite horse alongside her father instead of in the carriage where, by right as a princess, she ought to be.

They were no more than a day’s riding from the Capitol when they were met by the Royal Guard, fronted by King Robert Baratheon himself. Plush tents and the scent of a boar roasting on a spit welcomed them, and she found herself developing a quick fondness for the King in the South. Her stomach growled. They had eaten well enough on the almost month long trip, but Eddard Stark, despite his royal blood, had always been a humble man, apparently in contrast with his southron counterpart.

“Ned!” he bellowed, and for a moment Arya wondered if her father had such an imposing presence in the eyes of others. “It’s been far too long.” The two kings dismounted from their respective steads, Ned fixing his daughter with a firm nod as he did so, and embraced before their households.

“Robert. I hope you are well.”

“As they say, you can’t keep a good man down. Although I am all the better for laying eyes on you.” His gaze fell upon Arya, and for a moment the King looked as if he had seen a ghost. “By gods, for a moment there I thought I had been transported back in time! This can only be your daughter. She’s the spitting image of her aunt.”

The weight of his stare and words fell heavy on Arya. She’d been told may a time before that she favoured her paternal aunt in both looks and personality. But it felt odd to be told so by the person who had been betrothed to her before her untimely death.

Though not usually one to shy away, she was happy to let her father take the lead this time.

“This is Arya.”

The King surprised her further by taking her hand, grin still affixed to his face, and kissing it. “It is our great honour to welcome you, little Princess. Gendry!”

At his command a young boy, no more than a year or two her elder, rode towards her, the Baratheon sigil displayed proudly on his breast. Though he bore a striking resemblance to his Royal father, he wore no smile as he dismounted his horse, dark brows knitted together as he observed their guests.

“Ned, Princess, may I introduce Prince Gendry, first of his name and future ruler of my great kingdom.”

“Your Grace,” the Prince bowed before the King in the North out of respect rather than necessity, taking as long as possible before turning slightly in Arya’s direction, “Princess.”

“Is that any way to greet your Queen? Gods, boy! I thought I taught you some manners.”

Wait, what?

For a moment, Arya was certain that he merely jested, but realised with both shock and horror that that was not the case. One look at her father, who was refusing to meet her eye, disproved that theory. She could do naught but watch, all but paralysed, as Prince Gendry took her hand just as his father had done, although the lingering of his lips offended her a thousand times more than the King’s had done.

“My Lady.”

His grip on her had barely been relinquished when she knew what she had to do. Turning on her hell, Princess Arya of Winterfell fled in the opposite direction, ignoring her Septa’s stern cries of ‘Princess!’

Sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Ned thanked the gods that it, at the very least, hadn’t been _the_ worst case scenario. Only relatively close to it.

A bark of laughter, however, escaped King Robert, who clapped his son on the shoulder. “She really is just like her aunt. You’ll have your hands full with that one, boy. Now, gods be damned, let’s eat. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

 

“This isn’t _my_ doing, you know?” Gendry finally took it upon himself to break the excruciating silence in which they had been sitting ever since the girl had been forced to return from her strop. “I’m just as helpless in all of this as you are. The last thing I want is a _wife_.”

His nose scrunched up as he uttered that last word, and Arya started picking apart her boar even more violently. “At least you knew. I was led to believe that we were just visiting King Robert. Not that I was about to be sold off.”

“Well, you _are_ actually visiting the King, so that wasn’t a lie. But I can assure you that whatever price my father paid was too high.”

Though her mother would say it was entirely unladylike, Arya’s jaw fell open. Who in the name of the gods did this guy think he was? Just because she wasn’t the heir to her father’s throne as he was didn’t make her any less royal than he. In fact, she was sure that, were they in the North, she could easily have him beheaded for passing a comment like that. “You know that if I am to become your wife one day I can very easily make your life a misery?”

Pursing his lips momentarily, Gendry ultimately shrugged. “I’m sure not much effort will be required.”

He definitely deserved the plate of boar he got in the face.

 

Arya’s sense of betrayal did not abate when they finally reached the Capitol. In fact, it worsened as she took an instant dislike to King’s Landing. It was filthy and too hot and filled with the worst kind of people imaginable, all of whom seemed to adore their Crown Prince, which instantly demonstrated bad judgement. She couldn’t really see why; he had the Baratheon dark looks and strength, though nowhere near as boisterous as his father, but lacked the charm that made Robert tolerable. Perhaps, she thought, that would be something that came with age…

She doubted it.

The worst part was that her father and Robert seemed to be oblivious to, or maybe wilfully ignorant of the bourgeoning hatred between the two children. Arya wondered, if they glared or sat in stony silence long enough, whether their families would decide that they had made a terrible mistake, that this would never work, and allow them to respectfully part ways.

She would never be so lucky.

“Arya,” Ned implored one evening, no more than a couple of days into their seemingly never-ending stay, having patiently listened to her ranting about how much of an idiot the prince was. She hadn’t even had her tenth nameday for gods’ sake, how could it be possible that she was already causing him so much trouble? “We are King Robert’s guests and it is only proper to show him and Prince Gendry some deference.”

“You lied to me. Why would you do that?”

“I never lied to you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that we were coming to King’s Landing so that you could give me away to some Baratheon prince? Sansa knew about Prince Willas long before she went away.”

Sighing, Ned sat down and urged his daughter to sit beside him, which she grudgingly did. “Your mother and I thought it best in the circumstances. You are not your sister, and we didn’t want you to worry any more than was necessary. The time would come for you eventually, without having to dwell on it too much. There are far worse matches that could be made for you. The Baratheons are almost like family. They _would_ have been family if King Robert had married your Aunt Lyanna as he was supposed to.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that I hate the Prince. How can I marry him if I can’t stand him?”

“You’ve only just met him. I suspect it will take both of you some time to warm to each other. It certainly did with Robert and your Aunt.” She wanted to point out to him, as he tenderly stroked her hair, that she was not her aunt, that she was just _her_ but refrained from doing so. She hated how sad he looked when he spoke of his sister. “You’re both still so young and, evidently, as stubborn as each other. Please, just… try to get along with each other. For all our sakes.”

Though she didn’t even like it- or even mean it- Arya relented. But she wondered how long that actually last with _Gendry Baratheon_ around…

 

The answer, as it transpired, was not long at all.

In her own defence, Arya did keep her word and try. For a week after her conversation with her father, she tried her best to at least be civil with the Prince, who had seemed so surprised at first that he had responded in kind. They were certainly nowhere near being friends, but no more bruises were sustained as a result of low-flying crockery.

All, frankly, was as well as could be expected until King Robert suggested that it might be an idea for the Prince and Princess to go riding together, away from all but the lady-in-waiting, who had been assigned to Arya her first night in the Red Keep, and a very large and imposing man they called ‘the Hound’. It sounded to her like a recipe for disaster. Especially as Arya, despite making what was effectively a truce with him, had no real desire to spend any great amount of time alone with the Prince.

“That would be lovely,” she had replied with a borderline manic smile, lying through her gapped teeth.

And away they went after breakfast. Gendry, on his obnoxiously large horse, led her down towards the stream with only their chaperones trailing behind them. Arya began to breathe through her mouth, sure that he was doing this on purpose. Was there no such thing as fresh running water in King’s Landing? Why did even the purest of things here have to smell of death?

Hardly a word was exchanged between them at all, at least until Gendry- predictably- decided to be an idiot and propose that they race down to the end of the path. Competitive as ever, she hardly allowed him to finish that thought before she was bounding off ahead, leaving him to play catch-up in her wake. And catch up he did. Gendry’s horse was larger and faster than hers, and it wasn’t long at all before he was side by side with her, pulling ahead and cutting across her path.

Unfortunately for her, the horse that she had been given didn’t react too well to the sudden obstacle, changing direction so quickly that Arya found herself thrown from its back, tumbling down the bank and into the filthy water. In keeping with her luck, this part happened to be rather deep and for a moment she found herself submerged completely. She coughed and spluttered water that she had inhaled after a firm hand pulled her to the surface once again and she found herself met with the rather intimidating face of the Hound, while her lady-in-waiting shrieked on the bank. A rather shocked looking Gendry stood alongside her.

“Are you all right?”

If it weren’t for the fact that she could well have drowned, Arya probably would have been more surprised to have actually heard the Hound speak. Still coughing water out of her lungs, she merely nodded, allowing herself to be picked up and placed on his own horse before he climbed on behind her.

“Tie that horse up to your own,” he ordered the Prince, clearly unimpressed. Ettie remained inconsolable and he shot her a scathing looking that had her gathering herself rather quickly. “I’m afraid a trip to the Maester is going to be needed for you. Gods only know what you swallowed in that water.”

_Great_ , Arya thought, _exactly what I need._

At least on the way back to the Red Keep she managed to direct a glare at the now rather sheepish-looking prince that had his head lowering in shame.

Well, you win some, you lose some.

 

 

 

 


End file.
